A Naked Gift (day 1071)

Warm water has rushed over my body,
Cleaned me of my sins and soaking
Virgin soil beneath my feet.
I have witnessed a standard
Leave nothing in return.
Shaking free the eggcorn
That grabs on tight to my chest.

Looking at my neat bundle of sticks
I collected while stepping over
Last year’s dead leaves, I realized
How stubborn I had been.
Yet, my every ounce of energy
Was focused as my petrified soul
Shook in an exposed, naked gift.

The Art of Forgetting (day 1035)

Even visitors don’t bring lost songs
As they wipe their muddy shoes
At my open doors.
Like angels losing faith
I roam from here to you.

Along my back door, trails:
Straight out from here,
Switch crossing deeper into the woods.
I catch your disguise
Lost in my naked eyes.

Because I don’t know the answer.
I don’t know why we laugh
At birds feeding hungry.
I don’t know why I hear you
When you think long and
Deep into hollow’s eve
Flickering against the softness.

To catch me is your effort I praise;
Perhaps my missing piece,
My soul’s mate.
But long dropped baskets
Keeps staring at me.

They Have Got Me (day 1013)

I have got angels.
They dance around naked with long blonde locks
And sing amongst each other banging a drum.
Whenever I stand up to join the chorus
They stop and they wonder and stare at me lost;
It’s not a ‘what the hell is he doing’ stare,
But a ‘caught in the crossfire of beauty’ look.
They tell me my voice is why they stay
Dancing around here, naked as they play.
I have no reason to not believe my angels
For when I am lonely, they are my commitment.
They are what brushes past my face after tears flow,
They are what flickers in my early morning eyes,
They are the cinnamon spicing my sauce,
They are what smooths my sleepy brow out.
My angels cannot do me wrong.
No matter what song perches about their supple lips,
Their fingers dance nimbly through the air.
When they dream of things I cannot yet see,
Their drum echoes through my heart
And I imagine that I can indeed see their spells,
– Woven upon me so tight –
And I hear even in daylight they’re not far away.
When I begin dancing, when I share their dream,
I know I have got angels, and they have got me.

Dragging Left Wing | Chapter V (day 948)

XIII

We had friends, sure. The kind of friends that went missing during the daylight hours and came out at night. Friends you’re not sure you’ve known sober. Perhaps this is toxicity… or fun.

We’d all get together at one of our pads. Getting all preparing at one of our dimly lit haunts. The ladies would all be scurrying around getting their ons-on. It was sub-culture at it’s finest. We knew it and cultivated it like Grama’s purple pansies. It reminded me of the ol’ Beatnik poets, or scenes of Almost Famous where they de-flowered William Miller. Those crazies who lived on the edge of poverty, half addicted to some narcotic the other half so close to the insane asylum it was the pure fabric of our well knit society that held them together.

It was interesting watching everybody in their own. Mindlessly wandering about their fantasies as that’d surface and take root in a discussion. We were a group of intellects, not withstanding the freeloading social surfers looking for their own stay too. We all have those, those curiously inclined but far to mind fucked to be able to withstand the rigors of an alternate lifestyle. Society is a tenacious mother who doesn’t let that stranglehold loose too often. Vice grips made of the finest steel a man can mine.

XIV

When you find yourself in these kind of situations, it’s easy to trace back memories to circumstances: naked and alluring. It’s a smile and a random comment. A shared drink. What started as a gentle touch on the shoulder and a look so dangerous it ate magic and cast spells. A perspiring beer bottle. Cowboy boots. Tweed jackets with patches on the elbow and thick rimmed glasses that poked out the sides.

It was love and magnetic, like a riveting fiction steeped in sex scenes and pool hall billiards and whiskey shots and a love story.

And I was a sucker.

XV

This isn’t a competition. This isn’t a battle for your love. This is an experience that we’re on together, holding hands, loving, whispering, walking, and waltzing through the evening’s twilight music rustling out through the brown wooden speakers of the 33 spinning wheels.

I corked my own bottle, I dusted off my own boots, I held the door for you. This was me, it was never my attempt to woo you, to brainwash you into me. At least not fully. Of course it’s hard for me to not try my best to cast my spells, in the end. I knew my spells were commingling with yours though. All the difference.

XVI

In the evenings we’d go for walks along the sombre street sidewalks, arm in arm with unconsciously matched steps; a slow pace. Slow dance in the living room with dirty indy music holding us close.

The floors were old parquet flooring; only a few loose segments to mind. We’d navigate the few squeaky spots with delicate care and embrace.

It’s funny how intimate relationships are always stifled in public. Soft becomes hard. Release become manicured. But the saunter always exists, the presence is constant. Julie had a swagger cultivated entirely. So did the rest of the gang, the lousy group of modern beatniks, loveless bastards, free floating radicals, my family of grandeurs I’d so come to call by love.

[note: to read full epic follow dragging left wing]

Dragging Left Wing | Chapter IV (day 940)

X

We were like kids, all day long sleeping around in nothing but our underwear and blankets that twisted and rumpled us into our own magic land of wanderlust. Between our carnal moments of pure passion I’d feed her citrus fruits that would sting the sin off our tongues. There was no Western movie script office, no bills pulling at our wallets, no jealousy, no wandering, no eager eyes or the next best thing. We did complete each other.

We were hustlers and lovers. Not gangsters. We didn’t thump our rap in our chrome rimmed mobiles, we didn’t include bling in our vocabulary. We were class that believed in perfumes, curls, a kimono, shoes that announced ones arrival, low light, martinis.

In the evening she’d sit around reading from books like Understanding Witchcraft, Seduction, How to Love a Man, and Being a Proper Housewife. We’re talking stuff straight from prohibition era, when a suit and tie was what real men wore to the bar, not ripped up jeans and a backwards hat.

From time to time she’d get up and stretch the largest stretch I’ve ever seen. She was a Yogini, so it was desire to watch her bend as she did. Her breath would catch with mine and I’d flow with her qi. Mostly I think she was weaving her spells she’d just read about, leading me into a place I really didn’t mind being at. She’d eye me, and flip me that focused kind of smile.

‘Service with a smile’ was her favorite saying. She’d come back into the bedroom with a plate full of some delicacy she had just concocted and beam with those words written on her mouth. I would always laugh, eager to see what my next feeding would entail. Never let down.

XI

She would leave that bed when it was her time to work. It was always a rush because we’d both hold off until the very last minute to get ready, keeping our naked skin touching that so pleased us both.

She was one fine specimen of the female variety. I would crawl up and down just at the very thought of her being. I would coo softly when I’d get to hold onto her hips. It was hard for me to tell whether it was this very act or another more carnal act that pleased me so. The pure thought of it sends my heart into emotional fluttering. Often I’d watch her dancing around the room with transparent fabrics lightly floating around her as she moved [for me].

XII

My favorite time of season was the autumn. The time of season when the fresh bright greens and floral yellows and purples and reds would fade away into earthy tones of death and decay. I’m not sadistic; it’s a time of connection to life and death. Pure. The anticipation of winter’s cold, the preparation for warmer clothes. Closing the windows and sweeping the sidewalk and laying bare all trees that stand in mother natures way. A transition we have no control over. Serenity.

Julia would pull out her old mukluks to wear around the bare wooden floors of the apartment. With these and her panties on I could hardly stop myself from enveloping her. Exploding with a passion aching to jump out of my skin and hunger for more. She knew this, and would smile uncontrollably when she knew this was where I was at. I never left her wondering, she had asked me not to.

Do you know what it’s like to have an unbridled passionate outlet, matched ebb and flow for carnal desires?

[note: to read full epic follow dragging left wing]

Scraping Elegance (day 897)

Wouldn’t it be worth it
To fly amongst wizards
Scraping elegance
From nearby apple trees
Pressing gladly
Into mirrors of deceit

Running callused fingers
Along loosened hairs
Billowing forgiveness
Between eyes of smoke

Escaping lethargy
That grows stronger
In children of love
Screaming without fear
Naked little babies
Blinded by ignorance
Inbred

There – and lost with madness
Like laughter fading
Into darkest night

Wouldn’t it?

Galaxy Spins (day 849)

Join me as we sweep the shores of life
Fill our thoughts with the echoing moonlight
Walking its way along the banks of serenity

Hold my hand as we swim the warm fall water
Echoing through surrounding mountains
Full of heaven on earth, of sweet Gaia
Sparing her nectar amongst our naked bodies

Share with me as I delight in the stars
Dreams forever entangling our horoscopes
Tightly as the galaxy spins us ’round

Surrender as we bolden our destiny
Enriching its gay step with fruitful love
Eternities gates mobile as we proceed
Into bliss known to all as rapture

Looked Like a Lover (day 779)

She looked like a lover I used to have
Who wouldn’t let me hold her tight
Though she’d lay naked on my bed

She looked like a lover I used to know
Who would sing a song to my keen heart
Then tell me not to listen to a word

She looked like a lover I used to love
Eyes so wide, figure so heavenly
But she told me not to smile again

She looked like a lover I used to believe
Words weaving dreams and harmony
Till she blew out her last plume of smoke

She looked like a lover I used to praise
Elegant and beauty deep and divine
Then she spoiled my words with one final goodbye